


Dusk

by Silverblind



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Angst, Gen, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 18:20:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2078373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverblind/pseuds/Silverblind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I am old, and wonder what shall become of me when I can no longer serve. The fear grips me night and day, but I cannot escape it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dusk

I am old.

I feel it most when my joints ache after a day that would have left my younger self with nothing but sore feet, or when a run leaves me breathless where years before I would barely have broken a sweat, or again when old wounds protest my every move.

I am but fifty, but my body is already failing, weakened prematurely by years of abuse and overtaxing. With every leap I pray my legs do not give out, and with every climb I hope my fingers do not break. One day, perhaps, I shall stumble or falter and fall to my death. After all I have seen, after all I have done, I dare not imagine what my brothers would think of such an end. But my dreams of glory are long since gone. When death comes looking for me, I know she will find me, one way or another. It does not matter.

My aches seem worse in this strange, foreign city, but perhaps it is only that my travels have finally taken their toll. But still I cannot rest. There is always more to do, more to see, more to find, more to kill. I am weary.

Every day, I find myself looking at scars I forgot I had. Has this thin, silvery line between my ribs always been there? What about this scrape on the back of my hand? Or this gash on my shoulder? I think about people I have sworn never to forget and find I cannot remember their faces. Sometimes, even their names escape me. The keys seem to taunt me.

 _We remember_ , they whisper as I examine them.  _We remember things forgotten by every other soul on this earth, but you cannot even recall the face of the man who saved your life fifteen years ago. You are old. Old. Old. Stop trying to pretend you are not, and let the fire consume another soul. You have seen enough. Given enough. Go back to Italy and see its wonders once more before you die. Alone. Forgotten._

Maybe it is fear that keeps me here, and not duty. The fear of seeing nothing but an empty house when my hour comes, instead of the faces of my brothers and sisters, the men and women who became my family when mine was taken from me.

Could it be that, after all this time, I shiver in fear at the thought of my end?

Dusk makes Constantinople shine like the brightest diamond of the east, and I escape Death for another day.

But I can feel her shadow over me, and soon enough I know I will no longer be beyond her grasp.


End file.
